


SCOOB AND SHAG SIDE B: Voyage Of The S.S. Pinkerton

by WholeFoods



Category: Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Fritz the Cat (1972), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, Samurai Jack (Cartoon), Scoob And Shag, Woody Woodpecker (Web Series 2018)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grimdark, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Side Story, Tearjerker, ok not THAT grimdark but it's a lil edgy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholeFoods/pseuds/WholeFoods
Summary: In the large, rectangular vessel known as the S.S. Pinkerton, Toons live varying degrees of lives free from the war on earth.Or, so they think.Read the original Scoob and Shag here: www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/scoob-and-shag/list?title_no=210827&page=1





	1. S1E1: “Goodbye and Good Riddance”

**Author's Note:**

> I am not good? at writing but i'll be glad to see what you think of all this regardless. It's a bit edgy, but Scoob and Shag is the second web-comic i can say has genuinely kept me on the edge of my seat when reading it and I wanted to be the first of my kind because other than fan-made ballyhoos I haven't actually seen people make full on fan content for S&S
> 
> hold on to your butts this is gonna be a journey

_ Clunk. _

 

_ Ca-chink.  _

 

Err looked behind him. He had just signed up for this job, and already something so seemingly dangerous had shown itself. In the cramped box dividending the elevator and the...well, it wasn’t an elevator since it moved sideways through the roof and...wait, wouldn’t that still be an eleva-

 

It didn’t matter.   
  


_ Vrrrrrrrrrrrr. _   
  


In the cramped box dividending the elevator and the offices containing the people the Mooninite was supposed to protect, someone was clearly using the elevator to enter this place, which was supposed to be excluded to authorized personnel only. I mean, obviously, it could very well just be a Toon having some sort of important meeting with the chancellors, but...something seemed so off. There wasn’t much chit-chat between people like there would be, just a light breathing heard through the fairly thin roof. 

 

The door slowly opened a foot or so from Err. The purple blob of pixels was getting anxious. He aimed his fingers to the door. “F-FREEZE!” The small creature proclaimed. “E-EXPLAIN YOUR PRESENCE!” God, his tiny voice must really be killing tensions. This was easier when he could hide behind Ignignokt. 

 

_ Vmmm _ _ m _ _ m _ _ m _ _ m _ _. _

 

As the door finally a-gaped open as long as it could, a cloaked figure dropped down to the ground. They were somewhat chubby, judging by the build of how the cloaked formed around the body. There was a slightly small, but noticeable, white tail poking out of the cloak, as well as a somewhat bulbous white snout. They were wearing what seemed like a cowboy hat with goggles resting on the bill, which led way to being able to see some beady eyes with visible bags.

 

“Y-YOU! UNCLOAK YOURSELF RIGHT NOW! UNKNOWN TOONS AREN’T ALLOWED ON THE S.S. PINKERTON!” Err said, repeating lines shoved in his throat in the instruction videos, without really thinking about the meaning. The cloaked figure didn’t really seem to take heed in what this small, pixel creature had to say. He walked much closer to the diminutive male, as if he was a deaf woman walking into a park. 

 

“REVEAL YOURSELF NOW! I-I’LL SHOOT!” Err screamed.

 

The cloak seemed to finally notice the small blip of color. He turned around, facing him, but not really doing...much of anything, really. 

 

“I-I’LL DO I-” Err began.

 

“You’re stalling.” The anonymous creature said. The cloaked figure had a slightly teenaged voice, like they had reached the apex of puberty. 

 

“Wh-what are you-” The mooninite stated, before being cut off again.

 

“You didn’t let me finish. You could've easily shot me as soon as I got out of the elevator, but you didn't. I feel you don’t like the thought of having a random casualty in your workplace, I’m assuming it’s because you’ll lose a source of income, or because you dislike repercussions, or…” the white-tailed perpetrator went on. He had a slight chuckle in his voice as he continued his sentence. “...Maybe you’re a good person.” 

 

God, this was really confusing. 

 

“What are you trying to pull here? I’M THREATENING YOU WITH DEATH, and i’ll TURN IT INTO A PROMISE!” He said, his fingers trembling.

 

“Well, I’ll guess we’ll have to see about that...Considering you were so kind as to not shoot me so soon, I guess I could call you an ally. Goodbye now! It was nice talking to you.” This mystery said. 

 

Oh, FUCK this.

 

“ | ２－ＰＯＰ ！| “ Err screamed out, as his eyes flared mysterious smoke-like white energy. Suddenly, two closely connected dots came from his fingers, aiming straight at the cloaked figured...before parting from each other diagonally, whizzing past the unknown assailant’s head. It seemed that this two-way shot was not for aiming at direct targets, but at targets trying to run away from the gunman.

 

The figure seemed surprised, lightly turning his head back to the Mooninite’s confused expression, before turning around to him.

 

“Come on, could you please play ball for this? My power requires it.” The cloaked man said. 

 

“Y-you mean your ballyhoo? Y-you do have to be a toon.” Err asked.

 

“Is that what you people call it? How strange. Whatever, we’ll call it my Ballyhoo. I need a proclaimed Ally’s life to save for my…”Ballyhoo” to work.” The mysterious figure said.

 

“W-what  _ is _ your ballyhoo?” Err asked.

 

“Hm...i’ve never thought about the name of my power. I don’t really know the naming scheme of these things.”  

 

“It just kind of...comes to us; when we figure out who we are. I don’t really know why...I kind of wish I never find out.” Err lamented.

 

“What do you mean?” The white-snouted mysterioso asked.

 

“When you find out that you’re a Toon, there’s this sort of manhunt going on for you. They want to find you so they can put you in the war.”

 

“There’s a war of these…Toons, as you say? I’ve never heard of...Well, that’s a lie.” The cloaked figure said, starting to mutter as he finished his sentence, as if he had some baggage related to the concept of this war.    
  


“Y-yeah, I mean, You have to be a toon, right?” Err said. “I assume only toons know about other toons.” The brightly colored blob stated.

 

“Well...I don’t know. I doubt it...but…” The mysterious intruder admitted, before gritting his teeth in conflict as he spoke. 

 

“You know what, I’m to admit it. I’m here on a manhunt. This ship has taken people away from me I can never replace, and there would be no peace in mind if I didn’t give those people the justice they deserve.” This unknown creature finally admitted, in the first showing of anger Err had ever seen. “The only reason I’m alive is by my father’s handiwork.” 

 

“W-w-wait, who are you gonna kill?” Err admitted, both in anticipation of bloodlust reclamation and also paranoia he’d be on the hitlist.

 

The mysterious creature read his fears on his expression, and tried calmed him down accordingly. “Heh, don’t worry. I’m only killing who’s responsible...the chancellors of the...S.S. Pinkerton, you said?” The toon-hunter admitted.

 

This has to be a joke.

 

“Y-you can’t. Y-y-y-YOU CAN’T!” Err said. 

 

“Why not?” The cloaked white creature asked, somewhat oblivious to the danger.

 

“The chancellors are chancellors because of their powerful ballyhoos! They can destroy anything they need to! You think these people get in power just because they dress nice?” Err yelled.

 

“Listen, my power gives me a massive advantage. I can recover from attacks probably the best out of any person you know. I’ve discovered this in my years of looking for this accursed ship. If you want to watch, feel free…” The mysterious creature began, but he stopped himself short.

 

“What’s wrong? Err asked.

 

“What is the ballyhoo of the chancellor of this floor? I won’t tell any singular soul you told.” The hitman asked.

 

“I...I think it’s called Intertitle. It can create, like, invisible walls and stuff, but I don’t know how far that goes.”

 

The cloaked figure put his hands to his chin, revealing his arms were as white as his snout and tail. “I see…”

 

“What are you thinking? Err asked. 

 

“I...think I know how to beat him. This should be easy, he is only on the lowest floor of the ship, right? They wouldn’t put a massive powerhouse at such a low floor.” The cloaked figure said, beginning to walk into the office. 

 

“W-wait!” Err said, sprinting towards the cloaked assassin as he entered the chancellor’s office.   
  


 

* * *

 

 

The hooded figure held his breath, and Err held silence in a similar manner. The office wasn’t unlike a wide hallway, adorned with awards and accolades addressed for a Woody Woodpecker. The man he planned to meet, presumably Woody, was unbeknownst to this anonymous creature’s presence, looking down at paperwork. Woody was a bird, his head covered in red feathers with slightly enlarged pupils, and despite his suit, his blue neck and body and white neck and belly was still slightly visible.

 

**_Woody Woodpecker_ , Tier F Chancellor of the S.S. Pinkerton. **

 

This is probably sounding really ridiculous to you when I say it out loud.

  
The robed character held his hand over Err, signalling not to act just yet. The cloaked figure knelt down like an Olympic runner, and dashed towards the desk. 

  
  
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING YOU IDIOT-” Err whispered over gritted teeth.

 

Woody, still looking down at his writings, snapped his fingers, causing four translucent panels to appear...Well, they weren’t entirely translucent. They iridescently glistened with movement, but that’s beside the point. The four appeared right where the mysterious cloaked figure was running towards, trapping him as the four panels started to close in on the trapped hitman, surely about to crush him.

 

“There’s no way Err didn’t tell you about our policy against unknown Toons. I don’t understand why you think you can just barge in her unannounced. Explain yourself or i’ll make the cube crush you faster.” Woody said, in a prototypical drawl.

 

Despite all of this, There wasn’t much fear in his voice when the cloaked man decided to speak.

 

“So...This is the power of Intertitle.”

 

“Wha-wait...How did you know the name of my ballhoo?” Woody said, slight shock dripping through his accent. The four panels about to crush the would-be assassin slightly wobbled.

 

“You seem shocked, and at a similar point, these panels aren’t as strong as they were. Your mental strength must be important to the strength of your...Ballyhoo, was it?” The costumed white creature asked. “I’m not surprised that your friend would snitch so easily.” He pointed to Err, who at this point was sweating pixelated tears, trying to signal that this cloaked specimen really should be shutting up at this point.   
  


“You...YOU TRAITOR!” Woody screamed, starting to redirect his Intertitles, freeing the unknown assassin. He looked back and saw Err’s shielding himself, preparing himself for death as he was about to be violently stabbed by this disgusting bird creature. He had to think fast. 

 

The anonymous snatched one of the panels as it flew, not even really thinking about his plan, and flung it into Woody Woodpecker’s beak at the same velocity as the panels. The title zoomed into Woody’s view all too fast, as before he could react appropriately, he was hit with the Intertitle right in the  beak, blood gushing as he fell down on his left arm, the intertitle bouncing off the wall and landing on the desk.   
  
Err’s scared reaction shriveled up as the mooninite looked to see the plate aiming for him suddenly dart to the ground, losing all of it’s previous energy.

 

“What.” Err bluntly asked.

 

“You seem sad that you’re not being sliced in half...but whatever.” The unknown said. Their cloaked head and snout turned to the bleeding fowl. “I’ve noticed that your panels weakened in strength as you got more agitated. It seems your mental state is important to how strong your Intertitles hold up. Tsk tsk tsk…” He continued, walking towards the desk of the bleeding Woody, adjusting his hood as if he was about to take it off.

 

“I-i- | ＩＮＴＥＲＴＩＴＬＥ ！ |” Woody called out. Suddenly, the four panels seamed together into one, one of them slightly broken, showcasing a light showcase of the rainbow in it’s cracks and crevices, and overall a little wobbly, but protected the dying Chancellor well enough.

 

“Hm...How strange. Why is one of the panels so broken? That’s the one you tried throwing at your failed guard-dog.” The unknown white creature stated, pointing to Err, who nodded in approval. 

 

“N-no reason.” Woody sweared. The panels wiggled. 

 

“Could it be that as well as your mental state, the status of your appendages is crucial to Intertitle? You have three functioning arms and one that seems to be bruised or damaged, and only one of your panels is broken like this.” The cloaked person continued.

 

“Sh-sh-shut up. It’s because I threw it at Err.” Woody reasoned. The panels wobbled more.

 

“Well, The whole reason you’re going to be defeated is because I used your Intertitle against you, but the panel I threw is perfectly unbroken.” The creature reasoned. As he continued, the panels lost their sturdiness, seeming as if they were vibrating around in place, their posture destroying itself in it’s progress. “It hit your beak, then ricocheted to the wall and then on the desk, but it never broke. Because the status of your limbs determines the density, and your mental state determines the dexterity. Your beak, obviously, isn't one of the four appendages.” 

 

“SH-SHUT THE HELL UP!” Woody screamed. “HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THIS, YOU BRAT? TELL ME!” He continued yelling, the panels so unstable you could walk through them, which the cloaked unknown did and more, as he took a running start, took a jump, and kicked through the wobbly panels, the chaos causing them to break completely in Woody’s mind. This, however, had a downside, as many shards got into the creature’s flesh, particularly the creature’s white, small-toed feet, and much of his arms.

 

Woody’s face lit up seeing this. He struggled to move his left arm, but when he did, he could move the shards of his Intertitles like bees, cutting into his body, and circling him, threatening him with any further movement. “h-h-hHAHAHA! YOU IDIOT! THIS WAS M-MY PLAN THE WHOLE TIME! YEAH! AND IF YOU EVEN MAKE AN INCH, I'M SURE YOU’LL BE CUT INTO SMITHEREENS! YOU WON’T TAKE MY LIFE BUDDY! HEH-HEH-HEH HA HA! HEH-HEH-HEH HA HA! HEHEHEHEHEH!” He yelled out a laugh.

 

“That’s not true.” The cloaked figure said, fidgeting with the center of his cape. 

 

“Huh? Woody questioned, causing the torrent of shards to slightly slow down.

 

“I don’t really know a lot of things. I admit in my years since I stopped being a child, I’m still kind of a ditz, and still kind of a softie when it comes to people I care about. What i’m saying is that i’m not exactly the toughest man in the world. I don’t know how to protect people. I don’t…” The cloaked specimen continued, choking up as he reached his sentence’s end. He started to take off his cloak and slowly revealed himself.

 

“I don’t know how to save a life. I’ve tried, and I’ve failed.”   
  


He threw his cloak to the wayside. It revealed a hippo-esque creature, but a lot whiter and furrier. He wore a cowboy hat, wearing white, minimalist goggles with three wide ovaled shades, on the bill. He had small eyes and he was still somewhat chubby, but this is expected. His feet, while covered in shards, were slightly stumpy, with tiny, bulbous feet.

 

I’m probably explaining horribly, but you know.

 

“N-no...WE KILLED YOU. WE NUKED THAT WHOLE STUPID VALLEY!” Woody screamed.

 

“But if I can’t save a life...My best next option is to take one. And it’s gonna be yours. My name is Moomintroll. I don’t think you know me. But I know you knew my parents. Because one fateful winter day, your forces came and burnt my home to the ground, and you took a lot of things from me, physically and emotionally. If it wasn’t for my father i’d join them. But I can’t save them anymore. The only thing I can do now is take you down in an equally violent way. Because there’s apparently a war going on. That’s the reason you killed my parents. You had something to prove to your enemies, I assume. I’m gonna get this revenge with my own hands...and it starts with the seven chancellors of the S.S. Pinkerton. It starts with you and your end, Woody.” Moomin ended.

 

“N-no, p-ple-” Woody started.

 

Suddenly, a small bullet shot Woody in the beak, neutralizing the circling shards around Moomin, and another diametrically opposed whizzed past the downside of Moomin’s snout. He looked beside. He saw Err, aiming his fingers at the center of the office. Of course, he used his ballyhoo to shoot Woody, at the risk of neutralizing Moomin, much to the chagrin of Err’s scared expression. Moomin chuckled, closing his eyes and giving a forgiving smirk, before turning to the beaten-up woodpecker. He jumped up, lunging towards the bird, and prepared his fists.

 

He hit him in the beak, and in the eyes, and in the sto-

 

Moomin hit him in a lot of places is what i’m saying.

 

And every place he hit, something miraculous happened. The wounds and cuts on Moomin’s body healed themselves with every successful blow he landed. THIS must’ve been the recovery Err was told about...His ballyhoo, even.

 

Eventually, Moomin stopped assaulting the now probably dead bird. His fists, holding the chancellors wallet, were lightly caked in ichor, which was probably an odd sight considering how cutesy Moomin looked. Jumping over the desk, He walked out of the office, with Err following close behind.

 

“S-so what are you gonna do now?” Err asked.

 

“Well...I got six more chancellors to either kill or dethrone. I don’t know how i'll go about it, but i’m not sure you should stick along. If this guy is just Tier F, than it can only get worse from here. You deserve a fuller life, Err.” Moomin admitted.

 

“Aww, come on! You’ve pretty much freed from this crappy job, and i won’t get put on trial for murder! I gotta repay you in some way.” Err pleaded. Moomin stopped in thought, and turned around to Err. He knelt down, adjusted his hat, and looked  Err square in the eye.

 

“Tell the people my story. The people need to know they're being used.

 

He got up,walked away from him, and pressed a button. He got sucked up into the elevator atop of him, the doors closing as he entered.

 

“We’ll see each other soon,  Mooninite.” Moomin said in the elevator, before the doors closed completely.

  
Err store at this sight, initially in wonder before realizing he had to wait for the elevator to get back to tell people the story of Moomintroll.

 

“Oh, MOTHER-”


	2. S1E2: "Juliet's Sleeping Dogs” (or, "The love you give…")

 

 

Tier E of the S.S. Pinkerton.

 

 

A humble city inside a ship, one of the seven inside the fleet. It had a Disneyland-esque kitsch attitude to it, the medium sized cylindrical homes topped with straw domes resting on round brick walls. The skies were obviously plastic screens, but long time residents didn’t seem to mind. They loved it here. It was free from the chaos of the tragic life that a Toon usually had in the war. And in this life, laid a hotspot for fugitives, outlaws, and overall just morally questionable people.

 

 

Le Chat Noir, Heart Of The Thieves. Says so on its signs, so it must be true. The aesthetic couldn't be more detached from the outside. It hid underground, the only thing notifying its existence was black matte stairs cornered by an alley of the tier’s kitsch metropolis, a small sticker of the head of a black-furred cat giving the only real notification of the existence of a secret operation. To the chagrin of the cops and the chancellor, these patrons committed and planned odd jobs and hits on toons they suspected to be supporting the regime back on Earth, with the commanders and all. They had a bit more power than the chancellors, but both still had much power. Think of a commander as president, and a chancellor a vice president.

 

 

You get it! I’m proud of you.

 

 

Long story short, Le Chat Noir was the perfect place for a rebellion.

 

 

So of course, Moomin found this place the first place he gave his attention. 

 

 

Moomin had been in Tier E for a good hour, asking passersby of a good place to find some grub. Most of the people, however, could really only give him either some gross butcher's pad with some fat guy mugging on him, or some weird vegan joint that sells twigs in a bucket for much more than it's worth. When people did mention Le Chat Noir, it was in hushed tones of fear and intimidation...but for what reason? Not any Moomin knew, in a light cloud of hubris of some of the shadier workings. It just sounded like a sleazy bar, It wasn't the Normandy landings...not that Moomin knew what that was, exactly. By the time he got to the black matte stairs, stained with foot-prints (and feet-prints, for whatever reason.) of it's patrons, He was almost disappointed. Despite himself, he bounced down the stairs and into the vaguely lit darkness below.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


~~_ "Woody Woodpecker was neutralized in his office." _ ~~

 

~~_ "Do you know who did it?" _ ~~

 

~~_ "No, Prime Chancellor, we couldn't afford surveillance cameras for all the chancellors. The recently hired guard was gone from the premises by the time the murder took place. Should we place a hit?" _ ~~

 

~~_ "No, I want to wait it out and see what comes up, because if we suddenly call for his head we might raise suspicion or riots in the other Tiers...well, except Tier D, that one's long gone." _ ~~

 

~~_ "We've lost most of the troops we sent there to Family Viewing Hour. We can't explain their curved appearance still but we suspect it's a combination of two ballyhoos." _ ~~

 

~~_ "Alright...Josie, I have one singular request." _ ~~

 

~~_ "Yes, Prime Chancellor?" _ ~~

 

~~_ "Tell the Sons Of Sam to be on the lookout on who's leaving Tier E. We might find our killer." _ ~~

 

~~_ "Yes, Prime Chancellor." _ ~~

  
  


* * *

 

“Ye seem like yer waaay too young to be orderin’ from a bar...or even know what a bar is fer that matter. ” A scottish man said from the table, in a prototypical accent of his people. He had a torn up t-shirt and a red flannel kilt, with the face of a cat for a belt buckle. If one got a good peek, they could see that his right leg was replaced with what looked like an AR-15 from the knee down.

 

“I’m actually 17.” Moomin admitted. “When we had special parties for the holidays, my father always offered me a little bit of alcohol, in a tiny acorn cup, to the chagrin of my mother. Before he died, he had just harvested a bunch of wheat for that occasion. He seemed really eager to get me into harder lager...But im really only interested in the lighter stuff on occasion.” The fluffy troll admitted, pulling out the wallet he stole from Woody Woodpecker. “Just give me a soda and one of those cheese curd baskets, whatever those are.” He concluded.

 

“Aie...OI! CARL! DOMANICK! FRY ME UP A CHEESE CURD ORDER FOR THIS CONFUSED HIPPO!” The scottish man yelled, eliciting a sigh from Moomin.

 

“I’m sorry about yee parents, boy. It’s a sadness heard round de world.” he continued.

 

“Thanks…What’s your name again?” Moomin asked.

 

“It’s The Scotsman, laddie. I own this operation, and ye ought to remember it if ye keep come over here.” The Scotsman confirmed, waving his hand over the establishment before turning to a soda fountain and pouring in store-brand cola into a faux-glass cup. 

 

Moomin turned around in his stool. Away from the main bar, there were plenty of tables where many toons of similar builds to Moomin’s bartender ate gregorious amounts of food and chat in overtly machismo innuendo. It was kind of gross.

 

“Ah...Well, while I hope I get too, but I'm not in a position to be a regular customer, my dead father is the reason i’m here, and i’m trying to travel through all of these Tiers and...meet some people.” Moomintroll said, vaguely admitting to his revenge plot.

 

“Ooo! That seems interestin’. Do ye have enough reels to make the trip?...And also pay for yer meal?” The Scotsman said, handing him a plastic crate of deep fried cheese curds.

 

“Oh...well, uh…” He looked into Woody’s wallet and found numerous odd coins. They looked like tiny film reels, with holes in the middle of them. They were these somewhat chunky glass circles with odd, cassette like tape around it. He took out about five and handed it to The Scotsman.

 

“Aie, that’s de stuff…I take it ye ain't been here long.” The Scotman assumed. “Heh, no, I just came here...So, I take it you’ve been here a lot longer than me, How many of these reels would it take to sustain myself into the next Tier of the ship?” Moomin asked. 

 

“Well otleast eight thousand, but ye can get cash easily with odd jobs.” The scotsman said, pointing to a posterboard full of forums of varying shapes and sizes south from Moomin on the wall, next to a dartboard with numerous dismembered hands pinned to it with darts.

 

Moomin took his basket of breaded cheese curds with him, popping them in his mouth one by one as he waddled to the wall carrying the numerous options for payment. Almost at random, he picked a slightly yellowed paper and walked back to the bar, sliding his basket further from him as he looked deeper into the decree in his hands, the stamp of a football fortifying its behind.

 

_ "Dear reader, I, Mayor Brown, am decreeing a national search. As you might know, in the area surrounding the now evacuated Headroom Park, there has been an odd and powerful storm rocking the surrounding streets that have caused either mild inconvenience or massive cuts and injuries. It is unknown if it is a Ballyhoo attack from invaders or some odd weather phenomena. The eye of the storm is so powerful, we have nobody in this Tier willing to help. THOSE WHO HELP STOP THIS ASSAULT SHALL EARN TEN THOUSAND REELS when it is proven that the assailant has been detained, killed, or reformed I hope to see your skill save our glorious slice of heaven. _

 

_ -Mayor Brown _

“Is Mayor Brown the one running this tier of the ship?” Moomin asked. “Aye. The bald-headed prick’s been running this ship for 12 years, but always tries teh crackdown on our bloomin’ enterprise. I don’t suggest going for that one. I know exactly what it is, deh one at Headroom paak.”  The Scotsman bemoaned.

 

“Why’s that? It’s probably just a rogue ballyhoo user or something, I’ve taken out ballyhoo users before, I can do it now.” Moomin assumed.

 

“Yeh see dot’s the thing, ever since this odd smoke came into the chimney of the mayor’s old childhood apartment, there’s been this odd storm. The closer ye get to it, the more it seems to slice things up into little bits. Many of the old buildings there are either rubble are close to it. People say it’s some ghost of an old commander or warrior. There’s a rumor it’s this cancelled reality show star, or possibly the Martians, but i’d rather not talk about the war tonight.” The Scotsman continued.

 

Moomin had a long, contemplative look on his face. “Ye seriously ain’t tryna do this job...right?” The Scotsman sighed, looking at the troll’s face. “Uh...maybe?” Moomin admitted.

 

“Fine matey, it’s your funeral. Headroom Park is 80 miles south of here, when you get to the 10 or so warning signs, that’s how you know ye found it. Don’t be surprised if ya don’t have a head anymore.” The Scotsman said, turning his back to the troll in confusion.

 

Silence.

 

“...can i atleast get a bag for this?” Moomin blandly asked.

 

“Oh...alright.” The scotsman said, turning his head to the troll, before kneeling down and tossing up a styrofoam container. “Y’know, I intended a much larger emotional tension from dat. I wanna be an actor.”

 

Moomin poured the remaining cheese curds into the container, closed it, and went on his way.

 

\---

 

A large smog painted Headroom Park. You could hardly see past a couple feet of you, something you’d think that damn bartender would mention. I mean come on, be a little bit considerate.

 

Moomin trekked through the dangerous area, the sidewalk cracked and desecrated. The Scotsman was right. There were like 80 warning signs, but they were usually cut up in some way. The only reason they had so many signs was because whatever causing this disaster was travelling around and cutting up signs, but whether or not it was an intentional act was unclear. 

 

If this was a ballyhoo user, they obviously had to move around to find food, water, or shelter, which Moomin needed to find...Actually, scratch that, Moomin knew where the SHELTER was, it was at that old apartment...ok, he didn’t know, since the scotsman only gave him the park, not the address of the apartment. There’s a good chance it’d be smooth sailing from then, if the storm wasn’t too bad… but that’s the problem, isn’t it? This damn storm, The Scotsman definitely hyped it up, but what IS it? Moomin could only figure it out by actually finding the damn building, but all Moomin could find was mystery, incorporated into a hazy fog.

 

Moomin’s hindpaws felt sand in it’s toes, as he got to the center of a park. A sliced up bronze statue could be seen in it’s middle. The troll got closer to it, noticing a plague catacombed in dust. He swiped it away with his paws.

 

“HEADROOM PARK: A beacon of opportunity since 1989, fronted by Mayor Brown.”

 

Huh, so this definitely is the place… Moomin got up, and looked around his available field of vision. He was surrounded by a cult de sac of apartment complexes, next to one larger one, with a chimney, blasting an odd rainbow-y smoke through it.

 

“...That has to be it.” Moomin muttered. Either that was the fumes of a ballyhoo user, or someone lived there. They’d know more about the fugitive at hand either way. Moomintroll jumped to the larger building at the end of the culdesac, a fear in his heart that pumped as he neared the wooded, sliced up door frame. He took a deep breath. The troll put his first step forward onto the wood, making a noticeable creek.

 

All of a sudden, small rainbow sparks started to slowly surround the culdesac. Moomin looked around. They didn’t look like they were cutting anything up. Suddenly, one of them appeared before Moomin’s eyes. He stared at it’s prismatic qualities with a rare fascination. He lightly put his finger up to it, creating a light cutting impression on it’s tip.

 

“OW!” The hippo-esque creature remarks, recoiling, and causing the sparks to gain in speed somehow. 

 

This was definitely the place.

 

Moomin barged into the doorway. The room was derelict, with a receptionists office that had been un-used for years, dust covering it’s glass protection, and holes and scrapes throughout the walls, floorboards, and wallpapers. These small sparks were circling through, around, and inside the room that this rouge ballyhoo user was in. It was cutting up the 1 mile world he inhabited. Moomin didn’t know much about this toon, but he knew this: If he didn’t pick up his pace and find out the weakness of this ballyhoo, He would die.

 

Moomin frantically looked towards the stairs, and ran up them, tightly gripping the handrails, and looking around when he got to the end of them. What he entered seemed to be a backroom, containing numerous file cabinets, dated by alphabetical order and subject of contents. Moomin only had ample time to look at this, as it seemed like every single noise increased the rate of the ballyhoo. Moomin hid behind one of the file cabinets, and waited, holding his breath under his mouth. The sparks slowly turned longer, and thinner, slicing into his arm, forcing the boy to wince, trying to keep his composure. This lack of activity seems to slightly slow down the sharp pains of the ballyhoo. Did this prove Moomin’s theory right? Was the user simply reacting to hearing his presence, or did sound trigger the ballyhoo? Moomin had to move quickly, but also silently. How could he…

 

Suddenly, as he began to walk forward, he felt a rough, wriggling form of life die at his feet. Suddenly, all of his wounds, per his Ballyhoo, came back from damage. Moomin felt guilt on his shoulders before realizing that if he could kill these animals, and the extinguishing of life was returned to him with his Ballyhoo, he didn’t have to worry about the sound he made...right? Depends on what he did in the time alotted, definitely. He, as silently as he could, creaked over to the door what he thought contained the rogue Ballyhoo user. Moomin took a deep breath, and ran up the stairs, and kicked them down, which continued to flurry of slices on his skin, the room revealing at the end of a long office hallway, a slightly aged feline covered in gray and darker gray fur, covered mostly by shade, it’s wrists covered in long gauze bandages, and it’s eyes yellow, with pure black pupils. It’s legs, eyes, and arm was the only thing visible as it slumped down like a corpse, but clearly alive, for the eyes of an active ballyhoo blasted from the cat’s eyes.

Moomin gulped.

 

He knew what was going to happen now.


End file.
